


In Harmony

by karasunovolleygays



Series: HQ Rarepair Week 2020 [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aspie Akaashi, Concert Band AU, M/M, meet weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:08:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23873692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karasunovolleygays/pseuds/karasunovolleygays
Summary: Akaashi hears the newest member of the band before he sees them, and Aone is not like anyone else he's ever met.
Relationships: Aone Takanobu/Akaashi Keiji
Series: HQ Rarepair Week 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1720561
Comments: 1
Kudos: 26





	In Harmony

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy this still-bleeding rarepair!

Akaashi’s eyes seldom wander over the breadth of the band room these days. 

He knows everyone there by tone alone, knows the notes on the page down to the last crescendo. He can hear a flute player in front of him tapping her foot in time with the crisp motions of the director’s baton. Eyes closed, his fingers dance over the holes and keys of his clarinet as the sound blends into the rest of the ensemble.

He never would have noticed a newcomer until the timbre of the low brass section changes just _so._

When their run through of their upcoming concert’s opening piece completes, Akaashi looks across the half-circle formation, brows raising when he spies the least concert band-looking guy he’s ever seen alongside the usual suspects in the trombone section. Even sitting, Akaashi knows the newcomer is tall. He towers a head higher than the euphonium player next to him. 

What primarily grabs Akaashi’s attention, however, is their newest addition’s face. With thin platinum eyebrows dissolving into pale skin and a flat top haircut to match, mouth in a grim line as he listens to the director scold the saxophones for rushing the tempo (they were), Akaashi can’t help but affix the descriptor of stone-faced.

For the rest of rehearsal, Akaashi’s attention is solely on Stone Face — eyes, ears, all of it. The movements of his arm guiding the slide are crisp and precise, and the tone is strong with a brassy resonance one would expect from a non-classical training background.

Once their session is over, the group divides and Akaashi bolts out of the band room to mull over this new development. He heads for a nearby Starbucks to do his homework, having learned a long time ago that trying to concentrate on it at home is a fruitless endeavor to say the least. Homework at home more often than not dissolves into compulsive instrument practice. 

He’s halfway through his physics assignment when the slice of light from the nearby window darkens over the page. One glance at the cause and Akaashi starts in surprise.

Stone Face looms over him in all of his ridiculous height, with a long and toned arm pointing at his chest. “You were staring at me.”

A flush of embarrassment floods Akaashi’s cheeks. “Uh, yeah, sorry. I was just getting to know you.” He closes his notes inside his physics book and stands. With a bow, he says, “I apologize. That was rude of me.”

Akaashi knows the way he is. His fixations are often mistaken for rudeness or disinterest in the people around him, resulting in discomfort in others around him. However, his acknowledgement of this is always a few strides behind the little marathon runner in his head who compels him to push forward. 

“That isn’t important. I just want to know why?”

Straightening, Akaashi regards his newfound companion with renewed interest. People who know him well are forgiving about the way Akaashi’s behavior cart tries to outrun its horse, but those people are few and far between. He has always been far too “weird” to maintain more than a small handful of good relationships. 

His unexpected guest doesn’t seem to mind as he takes the seat opposite Akaashi. “Aone,” he grunts.

“Akaashi,” comes the reply, hoping that had been a name and not some foreign social construct he’ll never fully understand. But the upward twitch of Aone’s lips confirms he has interpreted the gesture correctly. “I heard someone new in the band and I was listening to you play.”

Aone’s eyes widen. “How can you do that with everyone playing?”

“I just can,” Akaashi admits with a shrug. “As a player, I’m average, but I can pick out particular players and listen to them.”

Sitting up a little straighter, Aone’s attention is glued to Akaashi. “And?”

“‘And’ what?” Akaashi asks before he realizes what the question truly is. “You’re on key, your tone is strong, and you had some sort of jazz background while you were learning to play.”

Nodding, Aone stares at Akaashi, agog. “That’s right.” 

This coaxes a half-smile out of Akaashi. “Thought so.” All thoughts of his homework forgotten, Akaashi listens to Aone’s rudimentary timeline for his musical education — as different from his own as it can possibly be save for them starting to play around the same age.

His iced coffee long melted, Akaashi doesn’t realize it’s nearly dark until one of the baristas does her rounds cleaning tables and rolling up the window blinds.

“It’s almost nine o’clock,” Akaashi notes, right before his empty stomach growls in protest. “I forgot to eat dinner.”

Aone nods and rubs his own belly. “Same.” They both head out the door, but before they part ways, Aone asks, “Convenience store?”

The idea of eating a dinner of meat buns and assorted junk food holds appeal for Akaashi, as well, so with a wide smile, he says, “Yeah, I know a good place nearby.”

The two of them make a beeline to a nearby shop that has a great hot food section and is always open late. Soon they emerge with far more food than two teenage boys should be able to consume, and they place their haul on the umbrella-ed table outside the shop. 

In silent companionship, they consume a pile of meat buns and onigiri, washed down with cans of iced coffee Akaashi can’t help but indulge in every time he visits this store.

Once they polish off the last bit, Akaashi notices the beginnings of a smile on Aone’s lips. A knot of well-being coils in his chest. The activities Akaashi partakes in which cause others to classify him as standoffish and antisocial seem like the most natural thing in the world with Aone.

“Which way is home?” Akaashi asks once they arrive at the nearby bus stop.

Aone shrugs. “Not sure yet.” He shows his phone to Akaashi, with an address punched into a map service. “Here.”

Years of experience with the bus service on this end of Tokyo help him find exactly where Aone needs to go. “You’re only a couple of streets over from me. That line stops at 8:30, so you’ll have to walk. Mind some company?”

“I’d like that.” Aone gazes straight out in the general direction of their homes. 

The walk isn’t a long one, around forty minutes, and it passes in relative silence. Akaashi’s eyes drift closed a few times as Aone hums one of their concert pieces under his breath, arm moving in time with an invisible trombone slide.

Despite the late hour, Akaashi can’t help but drag his feet when they reach Aone’s block. In front of his apartment building, Akaashi takes a deep breath. “Thank you for hanging out with me. Most people think I’m weird.”

“Maybe they’re weird, not you,” Aone replies, drawing a chuckle from Akaashi. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Akaashi stays in front of the building long after Aone disappears into it before he starts toward his own home, his attention drifting back to that slice of pavement throughout and after he crawls into his bed for the night.

School has never been his favorite place to be, with the band room his sole island of peace, but a tall, tight-lipped newcomer might just change all that and more.

One thing is certain; he will certainly spend a lot more time with his eyes open.


End file.
